THE BASKET-WOMAN.
“Toute leur étude était de se complaire et de s’entr’aider.” {365a}
PAUL ET VIRGINIE.
AT the foot of a steep, slippery, white hill, near Dunstable, inBedfordshire, called Chalk Hill, there is a hut, or rather a hovel, whichtravellers could scarcely suppose could be inhabited, if they did not seethe smoke rising from its peaked roof. An old woman lives in this hovel,{365b} and with her a little boy and girl, the children of a beggar whodied, and left these orphans perishing with hunger. They thoughtthemselves very happy when the good old woman first took them into herhut and bid them warm themselves at her small fire, and gave them a crustof mouldy bread to eat. She had not much to give, but what she had shegave with good-will. She was very kind to these poor children, andworked hard at her spinning-wheel and at her knitting, to support herselfand them. She earned money also in another way. She used to follow allthe carriages as they went up Chalk Hill, and when the horses stopped totake breath or to rest themselves, she put stones behind the carriagewheels to prevent them from rolling backwards down the steep, slipperyhill.
The little boy and girl loved to stand beside the good natured oldwoman’s spinning-wheel when she was spinning, and to talk to her. Atthese times she taught them something, which, she said, she hoped theywould remember all their lives. She explained to them what is meant bytelling the truth, and what it is to be honest. She taught them todislike idleness, and to wish that they could be useful.
One evening, as they were standing beside her, the little boy said toher, “Grandmother,” for that was the name by which she liked that thesechildren should call her—“grandmother, how often you are forced to get upfrom your spinning-wheel, and to follow the chaises and coaches up thatsteep hill, to put stones underneath the wheels, to hinder them fromrolling back! The people who are in the carriages give you a halfpennyor a penny for doing this, don’t they?”
“Yes, child.”
“But it is very hard work for you to go up and down that hill. You oftensay that you are tired, and then you know that you cannot spin all thattime. Now if we might go up the hill, and put the stones behind thewheels, you could sit still at your work, and would not the people giveus the halfpence? and could not we bring them all to you? Do, pray, deargrandmother, try us for one day—to-morrow, will you?”
“Yes,” said the old woman; “I will try what you can do; but I must go upthe hill along with you for the first two or three times, for fear youshould get yourselves hurt.”
So, the next day, the little boy and girl went with their grandmother, asthey used to call her, up the steep hill; and she showed the boy how toprevent the wheels from rolling back, by putting stones behind them; andshe said, “This is called scotching the wheels;” and she took off theboy’s hat and gave it to the little girl, to hold up to thecarriage-windows, ready for the halfpence.
When she thought that the children knew how to manage by themselves, sheleft them, and returned to her spinning-wheel. A great many carriageshappened to go by this day, and the little girl received a great manyhalfpence. She carried them all in her brother’s hat to her grandmotherin the evening; and the old woman smiled, and thanked the children. Shesaid that they had been useful to her, and that her spinning had gone onfinely, because she had been able to sit still at her wheel all day.“But, Paul my boy,” said she, “what is the matter with your hand?”
“Only a pinch—only one pinch that I got, as I was putting a stone behinda wheel of a chaise. It does not hurt me much, grandmother; and I’vethought of a good thing for to-morrow. I shall never be hurt again, ifyou will only be so good as to give me the old handle of the brokencrutch, grandmother, and the block of wood that lies in thechimney-corner, and that is of no use. I’ll make it of some use, if Imay have it.”
“Take it then, dear,” said the old woman; “and you’ll find the handle ofthe broken crutch under my bed.”
Paul went to work immediately, and fastened one end of the pole into theblock of wood, so as to make something like a dry-rubbing brush. “Look,grandmamma, look at my _scotcher_. I call this thing my _scotcher_,”said Paul, “because I shall always scotch the wheels with it. I shallnever pinch my fingers again; my hands, you see, will be safe at the endof this long stick; and, sister Anne, you need not be at the trouble ofcarrying any more stones after me up the hill; we shall never want stonesany more. My scotcher will do without anything else, I hope. I wish itwas morning, and that a carriage would come, that I might run up thehill, and try my scotcher.”
“And I wish that as many chaises may go by to-morrow as there did to-day,and that we may bring you as many halfpence, grandmother,” said thelittle girl.
“So do I, my dear Anne,” said the old woman; “for I mean that you andyour brother shall have all the money that you get to-morrow. You maybuy some gingerbread for yourselves, or some of those ripe plums that yousaw at the fruit-stall the other day, which is just going into Dunstable.I told you then that I could not afford to buy such things for you; butnow that you can earn halfpence for yourselves, children, it is fairshould taste a ripe plum and bit of gingerbread for once and a way inyour lives.”
“We’ll bring some of the gingerbread home to her, shan’t we, brother?”whispered little Anne. The morning came; but no carriages were heard,though Paul and his sister had risen at five o’clock, that they might besure to be ready for early travellers. Paul kept his scotcher poisedupon his shoulder, and watched eagerly at his station at the bottom ofthe hill. He did not wait long before a carriage came. He followed itup the hill; and the instant the postillion called to him, and bid himstop the wheels, he put his scotcher behind them, and found that itanswered the purpose perfectly well.
Many carriages went by this day, and Paul and Anne received a great manyhalfpence from the travellers.
When it grew dusk in the evening, Anne said to her brother—“I don’t thinkany more carriages will come by to-day. Let us count the halfpence, andcarry them home now to grandmother.”
“No, not yet,” answered Paul, “let them alone—let them lie still in thehole where I have put them. I daresay more carriages will come by beforeit is quite dark, and then we shall have more halfpence.”
Paul had taken the halfpence out of his hat, and he had put them into ahole in the high bank by the roadside; and Anne said she would not meddlewith them, and that she would wait till her brother liked to count them;and Paul said—“If you will stay and watch here, I will go and gather someblackberries for you in the hedge in yonder field. Stand you hereabouts,half-way up the hill, and the moment you see any carriage coming alongthe road, run as fast as you can and call me.”
Anne waited a long time, or what she thought a long time; and she saw nocarriage, and she trailed her brother’s scotcher up and down till she wastired. Then she stood still, and looked again, and she saw no carriage;so she went sorrowfully into the field, and to the hedge where herbrother was gathering blackberries, and she said, “Paul, I’m sadly tired,_sadly tired_!” said she, “and my eyes are quite strained with lookingfor chaises; no more chaises will come to-night; and your scotcher islying there, of no use, upon the ground. Have not I waited long enoughfor to-day, Paul?”
“Oh, no,” said Paul; “here are some blackberries for you; you had betterwait a little bit longer. Perhaps a carriage might go by whilst you arestanding here talking to me.”
Anne, who was of a very obliging temper, and who liked to do what she wasasked to do, went back to the place where the scotcher lay; and scarcelyhad she reached the spot, when she heard the noise of a carriage. Sheran to call her brother, and to their great joy, they now saw fourchaises coming towards them. Paul, as soon as they went up the hill,followed with his scotcher; first he scotched the wheels of one carriage,then of another; and Anne was so much delighted with observing how wellthe scotcher stopped the wheels, and how much better it was than stones,that she forgot t
o go and hold her brother’s hat to the travellers forhalfpence, till she was roused by the voice of a little rosy girl, whowas looking out of the window of one of the chaises. “Come close to thechaise-door,” said the little girl; “here are some halfpence for you.”
Anne held the hat; and she afterwards went on to the other carriages.Money was thrown to her from each of them; and when they had all gottensafely to the top of the hill, she and her brother sat down upon a largestone by the roadside, to count their treasure. First they began bycounting what was in the hat—“One, two, three, four halfpence.”
“But, oh, brother, look at this!” exclaimed Anne; “this is not the sameas the other halfpence.”
“No, indeed, it is not,” cried Paul, “it is no halfpenny; it is a guinea,a bright golden guinea!”
“Is it?” said Anne, who had never seen a guinea in her life before, andwho did not know its value; “and will it do as well as a halfpenny to buygingerbread? I’ll run to the fruit-stall, and ask the woman; shall I?”
“No, no,” said Paul, “you need not ask any woman, or anybody but me; Ican tell you all about it, as well as anybody in the whole world.”
“The whole world! Oh, Paul, you forgot. Not so well as my grandmother.”
“Why, not so well as my grandmother, perhaps, but, Anne, I can tell youthat you must not talk yourself, Anne, but you must listen to me quietly,or else you won’t understand what I am going to tell you, for I canassure you that I don’t think I quite understood it myself, Anne, thefirst time my grandmother told it to me, though I stood stock stilllistening my best.”
Prepared by this speech to hear something very difficult to beunderstood, Anne looked very grave, and her brother explained to her,that, with a guinea, she might buy two hundred and fifty-two times asmany plums as she could get for a penny.
“Why, Paul, you know the fruit-woman said she would give us a dozen plumsfor a penny. Now, for this little guinea, would she give us two hundredand fifty-two dozen?”
“If she has so many, and if we like to have so many, to be sure shewill,” said Paul, “but I think we should not like to have two hundred andfifty-two dozen of plums; we could not eat such a number.”
“But we could give some of them to my grandmother,” said Anne.
“But still there would be too many for her, and for us, too,” said Paul,“and when we had eaten the plums, there would be an end to all thepleasure. But now I’ll tell you what I am thinking of, Anne, that wemight buy something for my grandmother, that would be very useful to herindeed, with the guinea—something that would last a great while.”
“What, brother? What sort of thing?”
“Something that she said she wanted very much last winter, when she wasso ill with the rheumatism—something that she said yesterday, when youwere making her bed, she wished she might be able to buy before nextwinter.”
“I know, I know what you mean!” said Anne—“a blanket. Oh, yes, Paul,that will be much better than plums; do let us buy a blanket for her; howglad she will be to see it! I will make her bed with the new blanket,and then bring her to see it. But, Paul, how shall we buy a blanket?Where are blankets to be got?”
“Leave that to me, I’ll manage that. I know where blankets can be got.I saw one hanging out of a shop the day I went last to Dunstable.”
“You have seen a great many things at Dunstable, brother.”
“Yes, a great many; but I never saw anything there or anywhere else, thatI wished for half so much as I did for the blanket for my grandmother.Do you remember how she used to shiver with the cold last winter? I’llbuy the blanket to-morrow. I’m going to Dunstable with her spinning.”
“And you’ll bring the blanket to me, and I shall make the bed veryneatly, that will be all right—all happy!” said Anne, clapping her hands.
“But stay! Hush! don’t clap your hands so, Anne; it will not be allhappy, I’m afraid,” said Paul, and his countenance changed, and he lookedvery grave. “It will not be all right, I’m afraid, for there is onething we have neither of us thought of, but that we ought to think about.We cannot buy the blanket, I’m afraid.”
“Why, Paul, why?”
“Because I don’t think this guinea is honestly ours.”
“Nay, brother, but I’m sure it is honestly ours. It was given to us, andgrandmother said all that was given to us to-day was to be our own.”
“But who gave it to you, Anne?”
“Some of the people in those chaises, Paul. I don’t know which of them,but I daresay it was the little rosy girl.”
“No,” said Paul, “for when she called you to the chaise door, she said,‘Here’s some halfpence for you.’ Now, if she gave you the guinea, shemust have given it to you by mistake.”
“Well, but perhaps some of the people in the other chaises gave it to me,and did not give it to me by mistake, Paul. There was a gentlemanreading in one of the chaises and a lady, who looked very good-naturedlyat me, and then the gentleman put down his book and put his head out ofthe window, and looked at your scotcher, brother, and he asked me if thatwas your own making; and when I said yes, and that I was your sister hesmiled at me, and put his hand into his waistcoat pocket, and threw ahandful of halfpence into the hat, and I daresay he gave us the guineaalong with them because he liked your scotcher so much.”
“Why,” said Paul, “that might be, to be sure, but I wish I was quitecertain of it.”
“Then, as we are not quite certain, had not we best go and ask mygrandmother what she thinks about it?”
Paul thought this was excellent advice; and he was not a silly boy, whodid not like to follow good advice. He went with his sister directly tohis grandmother, showed her the guinea, and told her how they came by it.
“My dear, honest children,” said she, “I am very glad you told me allthis. I am very glad that you did not buy either the plums or theblanket with this guinea. I’m sure it is not honestly ours. Those whothrew it you gave it you by mistake, I warrant; and what I would have youdo is, to go to Dunstable, and try if you can, at either of the inns findout the person who gave it to you. It is now so late in the evening thatperhaps the travellers will sleep at Dunstable, instead of going on thenext stage; and it is likely that whosoever gave you a guinea instead ofa halfpenny has found out their mistake by this time. All you can do isto go and inquire for the gentleman who was reading in the chaise.”
“Oh!” interrupted Paul, “I know a good way of finding him out. Iremember it was a dark green chaise with red wheels: and I remember Iread the innkeeper’s name upon the chaise, ‘_John Nelson_.’ (I am muchobliged to you for teaching me to read, grandmother.) You told meyesterday, grandmother, that the names written upon chaises are theinnkeepers to whom they belong. I read the name of the innkeeper uponthat chaise. It was John Nelson. So Anne and I will go to both the innsin Dunstable, and try to find out this chaise—John Nelson’s. Come, Anne;let us set out before it gets quite dark.”
Anne and her brother passed with great courage the tempting stall thatwas covered with gingerbread and ripe plums, and pursued their waysteadily through the streets of Dunstable; but Paul, when he came to theshop where he had seen the blanket, stopped for a moment, and said, “Itis a great pity, Anne, that the guinea is not ours. However, we aredoing what is honest, and that is a comfort. Here, we must go throughthis gateway, into the inn-yard; we are come to the ‘Dun Cow.’”
“Cow!” said Anne, “I see no cow.”
“Look up, and you’ll see the cow over your head,” said Paul—“the sign—thepicture. Come, never mind looking at it now; I want to find out thegreen chaise that has John Nelson’s name upon it.”
Paul pushed forward, through a crowded passage, till he got into theinn-yard. There was a great noise and bustle. The hostlers werecarrying in luggage. The postillions were rubbing down the horses, orrolling the chaises into the coach-house.
“What now! What business have you here, pray?” said a waiter, who almostr
an over Paul, as he was crossing the yard in a great hurry to get someempty bottles from the bottle-rack. “You’ve no business here, crowdingup the yard. Walk off, young gentleman, if you please.”
“Pray give me leave, sir,” said Paul, “to stay a few minutes, to lookamongst these chaises for one dark green chaise with red wheels, that hasMr. John Nelson’s name written upon it.”
“What’s that he says about a dark green chaise?” said one of thepostillions.
“What should such a one as he is know about chaises?” interrupted thehasty waiter, and he vas going to turn Paul out of the yard; but thehostler caught hold of his arm and said, “Maybe the child has somebusiness here; let’s know what he has to say for himself.”
The waiter was at this instant luckily obliged to leave them to attendthe bell; and Paul told his business to the hostler, who as soon as hesaw the guinea and heard the story, shook Paul by the hand, and said,“Stand steady, my honest lad; I’ll find the chaise for you, if it is tobe found here; but John Nelson’s chaises almost always drive to the‘Black Bull.’”
After some difficulty, the green chaise, with John Nelson’s name upon it,and the postillion who drove that chaise, were found; and the postilliontold Paul that he was just going into the parlour to the gentleman he haddriven, to be paid, and that he would carry the guinea with him.
“No,” said Paul, “we should like to give it back ourselves.”
“Yes,” said the hostler; “that they have a right to do.”
The postillion made no reply, but looked vexed, and went towards thehouse, desiring the children would wait in the passage till his return.In the passage there was standing a decent, clean, good natured lookingwoman, with two huge straw baskets on each side of her. One of thebaskets stood a little in the way of the entrance. A man who was pushinghis way in, and carried in his hand a string of dead larks hung to apole, impatient at being stopped, kicked down the straw basket, and allits contents were thrown out. Bright straw hats, and boxes, andslippers, were all thrown in disorder upon the dirty ground.
“Oh, they will be trampled upon! They will be all spoiled!” exclaimedthe woman to whom they belonged.
“We’ll help you to pick them up if you will let us,” cried Paul and Anne;and they immediately ran to her assistance.
When the things were all safe in the basket again, the children expresseda desire to know how such beautiful things could be made of straw; butthe woman had not time to answer before the postillion came out of theparlour, and with him a gentleman’s servant, who came to Paul, andclapping him upon the back, said, “So, my little chap, I gave you aguinea for a halfpenny, I hear; and I understand you’ve brought it backagain; that’s right, give me hold of it.”
“No, brother,” said Anne, “this is not the gentleman that was reading.”
“Pooh, child, I came in Mr. Nelson’s green chaise. Here’s the postillioncan tell you so. I and my master came in that chaise. I and my masterthat was reading, as you say, and it was he that threw the money out toyou. He is going to bed; he is tired and can’t see you himself. Hedesires that you’ll give me the guinea.”
He pushed them towards the door; but the basket-woman whispered to themas they went out, “Wait in the street till I come to you.”
“Pray, Mrs. Landlady,” cried this gentleman’s servant, addressing himselfto the landlady, who just then came out of a room where some company wereat supper, “Pray, Mrs. Landlady, please to let me have roasted larks formy supper. You are famous for larks at Dunstable; and I make it a ruleto taste the best of everything wherever I go; and, waiter, let me have abottle of claret. Do you hear?”
“Larks and claret for his supper,” said the basket-woman to herself, asshe looked at him from head to foot. The postillion was still waiting,as if to speak to him; and she observed them afterwards whispering andlaughing together. “_No bad hit_,” was a sentence which the servantpronounced several times.
Now it occurred to the basket-woman that this man had cheated thechildren out of the guinea to pay for the larks and claret; and shethought that perhaps she could discover the truth. She waited quietly inthe passage.
“Waiter! Joe! Joe!” cried the landlady, “why don’t you carry in thesweetmeat-puffs and the tarts here to the company in the best parlour?”
“Coming, ma’am,” answered the waiter; and with a large dish of tarts andpuffs, the waiter came from the bar; the landlady threw open the door ofthe best parlour, to let him in; and the basket-woman had now a full viewof a large cheerful company, and amongst them several children, sittinground a supper-table.
“Ay,” whispered the landlady, as the door closed after the waiter and thetarts, “there are customers enough, I warrant, for you in that room, ifyou had but the luck to be called in. Pray, what would you have theconscience, I wonder now, to charge me for these here half-dozen littlemats to put under my dishes?”
“A trifle, ma’am,” said the basket-woman. She let the landlady have themats cheap, and the landlady then declared she would step in and see ifthe company in the best parlour had done supper. “When they come totheir wine,” added she, “I’ll speak a good word for you, and get youcalled in afore the children are sent to bed.”
The landlady, after the usual speech of, “_I hope the supper andeverything is to your liking_, _ladies and gentlemen_,” began with, “Ifany of the young gentlemen or ladies would have a _cur’osity_ to see anyof our famous Dunstable straw-work, there’s a decent body without would,I daresay, be proud to show them her pincushion-boxes, and her basketsand slippers, and her other _cur’osities_.”
The eyes of the children all turned towards their mother; their mothersmiled, and immediately their father called in the basket-woman, anddesired her to produce her _curiosities_. The children gathered roundher large pannier as it opened, but they did not touch any of her things.
“Ah, papa!” cried a little rosy girl, “here are a pair of straw slippersthat would just fit you, I think; but would not straw shoes wear out verysoon? and would not they let in the wet?”
“Yes, my dear,” said her father, “but these slippers are meant—”
“For powdering-slippers, miss,” interrupted the basket-woman.
“To wear when people are powdering their hair,” continued the gentleman,“that they may not spoil their other shoes.”
“And will you buy them, papa?”
“No, I cannot indulge myself,” said her father, “in buying them now. Imust make amends,” said he, laughing, “for my carelessness; and as Ithrew away a guinea to-day, I must endeavour to save sixpence at least?”
“Ah, the guinea that you threw by mistake into the little girl’s hat aswe were coming up Chalk Hill. Mamma, I wonder that the little girl didnot take notice of its being a guinea, and that she did not run after thechaise to give it back again. I should think, if she had been an honestgirl, she would have returned it.”
“Miss!—ma’am!—sir!” said the basket-woman, “if it would not beimpertinent, may I speak a word? A little boy and girl have just beenhere inquiring for a gentleman who gave them a guinea instead of ahalfpenny by mistake; and not five minutes ago I saw the boy give theguinea to a gentleman’s servant, who is there without, and who said hismaster desired it should be returned to him.”
“There must be some mistake, or some trick in this,” said the gentleman.“Are the children gone? I must see them—send after them.”
“I’ll go for them myself,” said the good natured basket-woman; “I bidthem wait in the street yonder, for my mind misgave me that the man whospoke so short to them was a cheat, with his larks and his claret.”
Paul and Anne were speedily summoned, and brought back by their friendthe basket-woman; and Anne, the moment she saw the gentleman, knew thathe was the very person who smiled upon her, who admired her brother’sscotcher, and who threw a handful of halfpence into the hat; but shecould not be certain, she said, that she received the guinea from him;she only thought it most likely tha
t she did.
“But I can be certain whether the guinea you returned be mine or no,”said the gentleman. “I marked the guinea; it was a light one; the onlyguinea I had, which I put into my waistcoat pocket this morning.” Herang the bell, and desired the waiter to let the gentleman who was in theroom opposite to him know that he wished to see him.
“The gentleman in the white parlour, sir, do you mean?”
“I mean the master of the servant who received a guinea from this child.”
“He is a Mr. Pembroke, sir,” said the waiter.
Mr. Pembroke came; and as soon as he heard what had happened, he desiredthe waiter to show him to the room where his servant was at supper. Thedishonest servant, who was supping upon larks and claret, knew nothing ofwhat was going on; but his knife and fork dropped from his hand, and heoverturned a bumper of claret as he started up from the table, in greatsurprise and terror, when his master came in with a face of indignation,and demanded “_The guinea_—the _guinea_, _sir_! that you got from thischild; that guinea which you said I ordered you to ask for from thischild.”
The servant, confounded and half intoxicated, could only stammer out thathe had more guineas than one about him, and that he really did not knowwhich it was. He pulled his money out, and spread it upon the table withtrembling hands. The marked guinea appeared. His master instantlyturned him out of his service with strong expressions of contempt.
“And now, my little honest girl,” said the gentleman who had admired herbrother’s scotcher, turning to Anne, “and now tell me who you are, andwhat you and your brother want or wish for most in the world.”
In the same moment Anne and Paul exclaimed, “The thing we wish for themost in the world is a blanket for our grandmother.”
“She is not our grandmother in reality, I believe, sir,” said Paul; “butshe is just as good to us, and taught me to read, and taught Anne toknit, and taught us both that we should be honest—so she has; and I wishshe had a new blanket before next winter, to keep her from the cold andthe rheumatism. She had the rheumatism sadly last winter, sir; and thereis a blanket in this street that would be just the thing for her.”
“She shall have it, then; and,” continued the gentleman, “I will dosomething more for you. Do you like to be employed or to be idle best?”
“We like to have something to do always, if we could, sir,” said Paul;“but we are forced to be idle sometimes, because grandmother has notalways things for us to do that we _can_ do well.”
“Should you like to learn how to make such baskets as these?” said thegentleman, pointing to one of the Dunstable straw-baskets. “Oh, verymuch!” said Paul. “Very much!” said Anne.
“Then I should like to teach you how to make them,” said thebasket-woman; “for I’m sure of one thing, that you’d behave honestly tome.”
The gentleman put a guinea into the good natured basket-woman’s hand, andtold her that he knew she could not afford to teach them her trade fornothing. “I shall come through Dunstable again in a few months,” addedhe; “and I hope to see that you and your scholars are going on well. IfI find that they are, I will do something more for you.”
“But,” said Anne, “we must tell all this to grandmother, and ask herabout it; and I’m afraid—though I’m very happy—that it is getting verylate, and that we should not stay here any longer.”
“It is a fine moonlight night,” said the basket-woman; “and is not far.I’ll walk with you, and see you safe home myself.”
The gentleman detained them a few minutes longer, till a messenger whomhe had dispatched to purchase the much wished for blanket returned.
“Your grandmother will sleep well upon this good blanket, I hope,” saidthe gentleman, as he gave it into Paul’s opened arms. “It has beenobtained for her by the honesty of her adopted children.”
FOOTNOTES
{2} A hard-hearted man.
{5} “The proper species of rush,” says White, in his ‘Natural History ofSelborne,’ “seems to be the Juncus effusus, or common soft rush, which isto be found in moist pastures, by the sides of streams, and under hedges.These rushes are in best condition in the height of summer, but may begathered so as to serve the purpose well quite on to autumn. The largestand longest are the best. Decayed labourers, women, and children make ittheir business to procure and prepare them. As soon as they are cut,they must be flung into water, and kept there; for otherwise they willdry and shrink, and the peel will not run. When these junci are thus farprepared, they must lie out on the grass to be bleached and take the dewfor some nights, and afterwards be dried in the sun. Some address isrequired in dipping these rushes in the scalding fat or grease; but thisknack is also to be attained by practice. A pound of common grease maybe procured for fourpence, and about six pounds of grease will dip apound of rushes and one pound of rushes may be bought for one shilling;so that a pound of rushes, medicated and ready for use, will cost threeshillings.”
{7} The author has seen a pair of shoes, such as here described, made ina few hours.
{12a} _Goody_ is not a word used in Ireland. _Collyogh_ is the Irishappellation of an old woman: but as _Collyogh_ might sound strangely toEnglish ears, we have translated it by the word Goody.
{12b} What are in Ireland called moats, are, in England, called Danishmounds, or barrows.
{12c} Near Kells, in Ireland, there is a round tower, which was inimminent danger of being pulled down by an old woman’s rooting at itsfoundation, in hopes of finding treasure.
{77} This is a true anecdote.
{139} _Salt_, the cant name given by the Eton lads to the moneycollected at Montem.
{151} Young noblemen at Oxford wear yellow tufts at the tops of theircaps. Hence their flatterers are said to be dead-shots atyellow-hammers.
{155} From beginning to end.
{167} This is the name of a country dance.
{181} It is necessary to observe that this experiment has never beenactually tried upon raspberry-plants.
{194} _Vide_ “Priestley’s History of Vision,” chapter on colouredshadows.
{222} Lobe.
{236} This atrocious practice is now happily superseded by the use ofsweeping machines.
{256} This custom of “BARRING OUT” was very general (especially in thenorthern parts of England) during the 17th and 18th centuries, and it hasbeen fully described by Brand and other antiquarian writers.
Dr. Johnson mentions that Addison, while under the tuition of Mr. Shaw,master of the Lichfield Grammar School, led, and successfully conducted,“a plan for _barring out_ his master. A disorderly privilege,” says thedoctor, “which, in his time, prevailed in the principal seminaries ofeducation.”
In the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ of 1828, Dr. P. A. Nuttall, under thesignature of H. A. N., has given a spirited sketch of a “BARRING OUT” atthe Ormskirk Grammar School, which has since been republished at length(though without acknowledgment), by Sir Henry Ellis, in Bohn’s recentedition of Brand’s “Popular Antiquities.” This operation took placeearly in the present century, and is interesting from its being, perhaps,the last attempt on record, and also from the circumstance of the writerhimself having been one of the juvenile leaders in the daring adventure,“quo rum pars magna fuit.”—ED.
{262} Lucifer matches were then unknown.—Ed.
{301} Varieties of Literature, vol. i. p. 299.
{302} Chi compra ha bisogna di cent’ occhi; chi vende n’ha assai di uno.
{303a} E meglio esser fortunato che savio.
{303b} Butta una sardella per pigliar un luccio.
{306} _see anted_.
{308} Il cane scottato dell’ acqua calda ha paura poi della fredda.
{309} The Duke de Rochefoucault.—“On peut être puls fin qu’un autre,mais pas plus fin que tous les autres.”
{311} Chartres.
{314} Poco e spesso empie il l’orsetto.
{317} Chi te fa piu carezza che non vuole,O ingannato t’ha, o inganua
r et vuole.
{318} This word comes from two Italian words, _bunco rotto_—brokenbench. Bankers and merchants used formerly to count their money, andwrite their bills of exchange upon benches in the streets; and when amerchant or banker lost his credit, and was unable to pay his debts, hisbench was broken.
{326} We must give those of our young English readers who may not beacquainted with the ancient city of Herculaneum, some idea of it. Nonecan be ignorant that near Naples is the celebrated volcanic mountain ofVesuvius;—that, from time to time, there happen violent eruptions fromthis mountain; that is to say, flames and immense clouds of smoke issuefrom different openings, mouths, or _craters_, as they are called, butmore especially from the summit of the mountain, which is distinguishedby the name of _the_ crater. A rumbling, and afterwards a roaring noiseis heard within, and prodigious quantities of stones and minerals burntinto masses (scoriæ), are thrown out of the crater, sometimes to a greatdistance. The hot ashes from Mount Vesuvius have often been seen uponthe roofs of the houses of Naples, from which it is six miles distant.Streams of lava run down the sides of the mountains during the time of aneruption, destroying everything in their way, and overwhelm the housesand vineyards which are in the neighbourhood.
About 1700 years ago, during the reign of the Roman Emperor Titus, therehappened a terrible eruption of Mount Vesuvius; and a large city calledHerculaneum, which was situated at about four miles’ distance from thevolcano, was overwhelmed by the streams of lava which poured into it,filled up the streets, and quickly covered over the tops of the houses,so that the whole was no more visible. It remained for many yearsburied. The lava which covered it became in time fit for vegetation,plants grew there, a new soil was formed, and a new town called Porticiwas built over this place where Herculaneum formerly stood. The littlevillage of Resina is also situated near the spot. About fifty years ago,in a poor man’s garden at Resina, a hole in a well about thirty feetbelow the surface of the earth was observed. Some persons had thecuriosity to enter into this hole, and, after creeping underground forsome time, they came to the foundations of houses. The peasants,inhabitants of the village, who had probably never heard of Herculaneum,were somewhat surprised at their discovery. {327} About the same time,in a pit in the town of Portici, a similar passage underground wasdiscovered, and, by orders of the King of Naples, workmen were employedto dig away the earth, and clear the passage. They found, at length, theentrance into the town, which, during the reign of Titus, was buriedunder lava. It was about eighty-eight Neapolitan palms (a palm containsnear nine inches) below the top of the pit. The workmen, as they clearedthe passages, marked their way with chalk when they came to any turning,lest they should lose themselves. The streets branched out in manydirections, and, lying across them, the workmen often found large piecesof timber, beams, and rafters; some broken in the fall, others entire.These beams and rafters are burned quite black like charcoal, exceptthose that were found in moist places, which have more the colour ofrotten wood, and which are like a soft paste, into which you might runyour hand. The walls of the houses slant, some one way, some another,and some are upright. Several magnificent buildings of brick, faced withmarble of different colours, are partly seen, where the workmen havecleared away the earth and lava with which they were encrusted. Columnsof red and white marble, and flights of steps, are seen in differentplaces; and out of the ruins of the palaces some very fine statues andpictures have been dug. Foreigners who visit Naples are very curious tosee this subterraneous city, and are desirous to carry with them intotheir own country some proofs of their having examined this wonderfulplace.
{327} Philosophical Transactions, vol. ix. p. 440.
{332} Tutte le volpi si trovano in pellicera.
{333a} Assai ben balla a chi fortuna suona.
{333b} Odi, vedi, taci, se vuoi viver in pace.
{334} La vita il fine,—e di loda la sera.
“Compute the morn and evening of their day.”—POPE.
{336} Vien presto consumato l’ingiustamente acquistato.
{337} I fatti sono maschii, le parole femmine.
{338a} Phil. Trans. vol. ix.
{338b} These facts are mentioned in Sir William Hamilton’s account of aneruption of Mount Vesuvius.—See Phil. Trans. 1795, first part.
{342} La mala compagnia è quella che mena uomini a la forca.
{343} Pescar col hamo d’argento.
{365a} “Their whole study was how to please and to help one another.”
{365b} This was about the close of the 18th century.
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